


A Fresh Perspective

by fictorium



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium





	A Fresh Perspective

  
Deb is really fucking sick of people who think that they know her.

  
Whether it's Quinn and his fucking sex countdown, or the creepy-ass Irish nanny who, everyone looks at Debra Morgan and nods like they  know everything about her, like she's so easy to read.

  
Cira Manzon doesn't look at her like that. Cira has that pissed off 'fuck the system' air about her that Deb had years ago, trying to get reassigned from Vice to Homicide. Maybe Cira hasn't done her homework, or maybe she just doesn't care that Deb almost married the Ice Truck Killer, or watched her FBI lover gunned down right in front of her. Every other fuckface in the precinct likes to give those patronizing little nods like they know everything about Deb because they've heard the gossip; well they don't know shit.

  
But Cira, she might just know something.

  
Like she knows about this weirdass Santa Muerte voodoo shit, and she doesn't flinch at the sight of mutiliated eye sockets. She knows that you don't get a damn thing on this job if you don't reach out and grab it with both hands, so she's willing to trade on her home and her childhood just to get ahead. In a neighborhood where nobody trusts the police, Cira grew up and became one, and Deb thinks that might be the gutsiest fucking move of all.

  
She's human though, and like Deb she does not like anyone to know it. That mask she's had in place from the first moment, that bored, disaffected expression like she could give a fuck if Homicide want her help, slips when she blames herself for Fausi's murder. And without realizing it, without meaning to expend the extra energy, Deb reaches out to Officer Manzon.

  
 _we're in this together_

  
Which is the first time in too long that she's said anything like that and meant it. Deb has been dragging her brother through his grief like a deadweight, trying to keep Quinn away despite falling for his fucking sleazy charm that one time. They aren't partnerships, it's just her giving for not a whole fucking lot in return. This is different, this might be an equal that she hasn't had since Lundy.

  
So when Deb offers to take the younger woman home, it's only because she's worried that this creepy shit can fuck a person up. She doesn't mean to stay for a drink, certainly not long enough for the beer to give way to tequila. Cira is mumbling in Spanish and Deb understands just enough to understand the swearing and the blame. Fuck, she'd know that in any language because to her that shit is universal, the only constant in her own life.

  
Maybe it's the thought of sad Dexter and the crying baby, with Quinn's sticky leather sofa the only alternative, but it's about a lot more than a convenient bed when she kisses Cira. She doesn't have the words, unless you count 'I don't fucking know' and so she tries to offer comfort the only other way she can think of. She guessed right, it turns out, about Cira's tomboy walk and what else makes her so different to the rest of her Catholic _barrio._

  
Yeah, so maybe it's a shitty idea, but it doesn't feel like it when she's pulling off Cira's shirt in the hallway. For the first time in months, Deb gets to feel wanted instead of just needed, and there's really nothing she can do to stop that feeling good.

  
In the morning, she'll take off like a bat out of hell, because that's what Debra Morgan does. But the morning is a long fucking time away.  



End file.
